


What Lies Beyond the Frame

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beholding Power Shenanigans, Everybody Lives, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, M/M, teensie weensie bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: Jon discovers a new ability through his glasses. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 18
Kudos: 546





	What Lies Beyond the Frame

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, so. I started writing this right after I caught up with the show, and I wanted something a bit more lighthearted. I really like the setting of TMA for fun shenanigans, so I came up with a canon-divergent AU that's basically an easy mode of TMA where none of the main cast die (yay, sasha!) and things are not quite as dire.
> 
> Seeing as I'll most likely be writing at least a couple more fics in this setting, I'll offer a very quick overview:
> 
> \- at some point in time, Gertrude usurps control of the institute from Elias. how/when did she do that? idk yet but don't worry about it!   
> \- though Gertrude runs the institute now, she can't exactly dismantle the system, so she's attempting to utilize it for more benevolent ends (knowledge is power and all that), and as an attempt to make up for all the things she's done wrong in the past  
> \- everything up to the end of season 1 is mostly the same: Jon's performative skepticism, Jude's worm attack, etc. The only big differences are that Sasha makes it out of that encounter alive and, afterwards, Gertrude gives everyone a basic run-down of the truth of things so that they're more prepared in the future (she wasn't expecting such a significant attack so soon)  
> \- so basically everyone has a basic knowledge of entities/monsters
> 
> that's about it! mostly i want this to be a relaxed, fun setting to toy around with canon mechanics, so the logistics aren't super important. just thought i'd offer some explanations beforehand so no one is confused about timeline stuff. 
> 
> oh, and special thanks to zykaben for beta reading~ 
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

The first time it happens, Jon is standing at the counter in the break room shoveling leftover chicken and rice into his mouth. It's reheated but a little bland. He doesn't much care, barely tasting it, his mind otherwise occupied. 

When he hears the familiar call of "Jon?", it takes a second for him to finish chewing before he turns to respond to Martin. But Martin is not there. The doorway is empty and no one else is in the room.

Jon has the luxury of feeling confused and slightly alarmed for about two seconds. Then, suddenly, he is back in his office- except that he's not- but he can see the inside of his office. It's like a strong daydream, like the after-image of some illuminated form lingering after he blinks. Jon can see, from a low perspective (his desk?) that Martin has opened his office door and is peering inside. He looks surprised at finding the room empty. 

Instead of leaving immediately, Martin walks in until he's nearly behind Jon's desk. Looks down at the messy piles of documents and notes. Leans over to inspect a pen, picking it up and scribbling something at the very edge of a mostly blank sticky note (Jon can't help the small grumbling protest that escapes him). After a moment, Martin gives up scribbling and actually throws the pen away. Then he reaches up somewhere beyond Jon's frame of vision. When he pulls back, there is another, identical pen in his hand. He writes something with it, hums in satisfaction, and replaces the top before putting it in the same spot the old one had been resting.

(Jon doesn't hear Martin hum, not exactly, he only Knows he did. And he can hear (really hear) the sound of his door clicking closed down the hallway as he watches it happen from his spot in the kitchen.)

Huh. Hmmm.

Jon throws the rest of his pitiful lunch away before slipping back into his office. He regards the replacement pen. Only now, free from his usual hyperfocus on work, does Jon notice the last handful of his notes were quite difficult to read. His pen had been nearly out of ink. 

The faded yellow sticky note Martin had used to test the pens was now covered in weak spirals, more impressions on paper than lines of ink. Accompanying them, bold in dark black, was a little face. Just two round dots and a long curve for a smile. With a little star next to it. 

Jon picks it up to throw it away. His hand presses the sticky end onto the bottom of his computer monitor instead. Strange. Perhaps the Web was up to its antics again, Jon thinks flippantly, even if the very idea sent a little shiver down his spine. 

That wouldn't explain the accidental spying though, Jon was fairly certain. Looking over his desk, he spots what might be the culprit: his glasses, lying forgotten on a binder. Jon eyes them, suspicious, then walks around his desk. He kneels down until he can see through his glasses without putting them on, and finds that they were at just the right angle to match what Jon had seen while in the break room. 

Well. This was new. 

.

.

.

Jon attempted to do some tests at home, but couldn't seem to recreate the effect. He would leave his glasses in a room and wait to see if the double-vision came again while in another section of the apartment. The only conclusion to be drawn from his very scientific efforts was this: his vision was very bad, and he had collected multiple bruises on his knees and ankles to prove it. Damned astigmatism. 

The next day was normal. Jon had work to focus on, so he couldn't spare his glasses for the sake of an experiment. Honestly, he'd just about convinced himself it hadn't happened at all. That wouldn't explain the fresh pen or sticky note doodle, but Jon was willing to wave it all off it it meant no more distraction. 

It wasn't until nearly a week later, with Jon on the cusp of forgetting it completely, that he left his glasses in the storage room.

Now that Martin had returned to his flat, Jon had resumed his habit of taking naps on the cot. Strangely, the space retained a sense of being 'lived in', even weeks after Martin had left. The archival assistant had left his mark all over: the reorganized files, the dusted shelves, the clean floors. Every now and then Jon would find a stray wrapper from gum or other small candies, hidden behind a filing cabinet or lost between the cot and the wall. Martin had misplaced scraps of poetry under the bed, along with a tape recorder he'd used to record them with. The content wasn't really inspired, but that didn't stop Jon from listening to the tape every now and then, strangely endeared and inexplicably worried over the shy honesty in Martin's voice. 

One morning, after spending the night in the building, Jon had scurried off to the bathrooms in an attempt to tidy himself up before people arrived. Maybe if he was lucky and kept his cardigan buttoned up all the way, they wouldn't notice he was in yesterday's clothes? 

The man had just finished brushing knots from his hair with his fingers when, along with his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he saw the hazy form of Sasha.

She was quiet as she entered the storage room, striding out of frame with a purpose. Jon remembered his glasses had been hastily discarded before he'd fallen asleep - they were upside-down, facing the door. His vision now wasn't upside-down, and just as clear as if he was wearing the glasses properly. 

When Sasha was visible again, she paused, catching sight of Jon's glasses. For the briefest moment, Jon was afraid Sasha knew he was watching her; he couldn't fight the blush that burned across his face at the idea of getting caught. But Sasha merely rolled her eyes and left. Jon 'heard' her mutter something like, "That man, I swear…" 

Later that morning, Sasha cornered Jon and called him an idiot for spending the night at the institute. Again. Tim laughed; Martin frowned. Jon feebly promised it wouldn't happen again and slunk back into his office.

.

.

.

Over the next week, Jon realized the glasses trick had rules: it wouldn't work if he folded the temples closed; like the strange tape recorders that had begun popping up and turning on of their own volition, the glasses seemed interested in documenting people, so Jon would only See things if someone was actually in the room doing something; he couldn't always 'hear' what people were saying, and no ambient noise came through at all; the image would disappear if Jon blinked (and it was only when he thought to try that Jon realized he'd been having no trouble at all keeping his eyes open for longer than he should.)

Mostly he would leave them propped open when he left his office. That seemed fair, felt the least like spying on his friends. Twice more he Saw Martin enter while Jon was away in the break room. On the second instance, Martin had noticed Jon left his glasses behind. Again, Jon felt a shock of paranoia, worried that Martin would somehow know just by looking that Jon could See him back. But the man simply sighed, making an odd, soft expression as he reached over to pick them up.

He must have closed the temples, because Jon did not See his assistant carry the glasses into the break room. "Jon, you forgot these in your office," came Martin's voice, very clear and very present, while the rest of him was blurry around the edges.

"A-ah, yes, thank you Martin," Jon stammered, trying to appear casual. He took the frames carefully from Martin's hand. "Did you need something?" 

"Just to ask if you'd eaten lunch yet," Martin said. He appeared strangely apologetic. "Sasha and I are running out for a bite - would you like to come?" 

"No, no- Just had mine." Jon waved at his half-empty tupperware. "I'm headed back in just a moment to finish something up."

Martin didn't seem surprised in the least, simply nodding and giving Jon a little wave before he stepped out of the room. Jon put his glasses back on.

In the end, Jon knew it wouldn't do to get used to spying, even if he was often curious over the others' behavior while he was gone. 

However, what happened next really wasn't his fault. 

.

.

.

One Friday afternoon, after reading a particularly brutal statement which concerned blinding white lights and echoes that came from nowhere, Jon found himself developing what threatened to be a spectacular migraine. Immediately he pulled his glasses off to rub his eyes and massage his temples. He had no water or tea in the office with him, so Jon reluctantly left to go get a glass of something and maybe take some medicine. 

He was in the bathroom debating the merits of a paper towel cold compress to put over his eyes when an image appeared. He could See Tim poke his head into his office, could Hear the deep, "Oh Jooooon," that came before Tim realized there was no Jon to find. Tim appeared vaguely offended for a reason Jon could not fathom. Then Tim looked at his glasses. 

Jon expected an eye-roll, or perhaps just confusion. But nothing was ever so straightforward with Tim. No, instead Jon Watched as the man seemed to realize something before his face brightened considerably, now adorned with a mischievous grin.

Jon did _not_ trust that expression on Tim.

Tim picked up the glasses. Jon tensed up, incredulous -- there was no way Tim was merely interested in delivering them to Jon, right? Maybe, if Jon was lucky, Tim would only be interested in finding Jon to tease him about leaving his glasses lying around. He didn't think Tim was unprofessional or childish enough to actually hide or break them.

By now, Tim was out of frame. Jon was a little disoriented as the glasses were moved up and down swiftly; floor, door, floor, ceiling. Then finally they settled, and Jon could see the heels of Tim's brown hands in the periphery, could see his fingers slightly curled, could see the ghost of his nose and holy hell was Tim _wearing his glasses???_

The view was notably higher than what Jon was used to. Even stranger was the fact that when Tim chuckled darkly to himself, mumbling something about shitty eyesight under his breath, Jon could _hear_ it. He didn't just Know that Tim said it, he heard it properly, as if standing in the office right beside his coworker. He heard Tim snicker as he left the office, heard his footsteps as he walked across the open desk area. Jon could hear Sasha typing at her computer, could even hear Martin humming smoothly as he flipped through some huge text with tiny print. 

Tim stopped near Martin's desk; Jon could just barely see his elbow resting in the other man's computer monitor. He must be leaning on it, hanging ever so slightly over Martin, who still hadn't noticed his company. "Hey Martin?"

The man glanced up with a gentle, "Hm?"

Jon found himself cursed with the burden of Knowing that, at this moment, Tim began to waggle his eyebrows. In a comically deep, smarmy voice, he asked, "This doing anything for you?"

It was, Jon had to admit, more than a little amusing to watch the realization quickly transform Martin's lax expression into one of horror and amusement. A disbelieving cough of a laugh escaped Martin's mouth before he squeaked, "Tim! Did you steal those off his desk?"

"I'm not stealing! Just borrowing!" Tim was wandering slowly around Martin's desk to join him on the other side. Martin was smiling, but his posture seemed wary. Jon noticed that Sasha was no longer typing. "I'm conducting an experiment, see? Jon won't mind if it's all in the name of science! He's a true academic."

"Tim, he needs those."

"You're damn right about that," Tim said, sounding more earnest. "I can barely see out of these things. I think our boss has rocks for eyes." 

"You'll give yourself a headache if you keep those on," Martin said in that familiar, gently chiding tone that somehow simultaneously worked as a threat. 

Tim waved away his concern. "I'm fine! Besides, if Jon doesn't want people stealing his glasses, maybe he shouldn't leave them lying around unguarded. Or put them on a leash."

Sasha's voice came from somewhere to the left: "Oh, you mean like those fancy chains you put on glasses?" She chuckled, "Jon would look like _such_ a fussy grandma in one of those."

"He would!"

Martin said, "They're called retainers," then stood up. How strange to be looking down at Martin for once, Jon thought. He was second only to Tim, who had a two-inch advantage. "You should really put those back-"

"Not 'til _after_ my experiment," Tim insisted. His voice regained its teasing lilt as he gestured to himself. "So, Martin, answer the question! How do I look? Maybe it's just been the glasses all along and now you'll start making _me_ tea every day without me having to ask!" 

At this, Martin blushed, and a smile threatened to grow on his face. He suppressed it by saying, "I already do that, Tim. I make everyone tea."

"Yes, but you make mine the best, _Martin_." This was said using a rather poor impression of Jon's voice. It startled another laugh out it Martin, who blushed even harder and gave Tim's chest a good shove. Tim pretended to stumble and cried, still using the voice, "Ack! Martin, how could you? I thought I was your favorite! I thought what we had was _special."_

"Good gracious! You really have to stop," wailed Sasha. She had gotten up from her chair and was fast approaching. "Your impression is awful, Tim; come in, it's not that hard! Give me those."

Jon saw Sasha's hands reach up to grab at his frames, then the perspective switched. It was a bit disorienting; one moment his vision was all Sasha, then a swirl of shapes and colors, then he could See Tim and Martin both looking his way. Tim had a huge grin on his face while Martin seemed determined to wipe away the blush staining his cheeks with the back of his hands. 

"Dear tape recorder," Sasha began. It was obvious she wouldn't be able to get her voice as deep as she needed to do a good impression; in an attempt to compensate, Sasha's delivery was as dry as possible, bordering on an absolute monotone. "Today, Martin invited me out to lunch; obviously he is plotting my murder-"

"Sashaaaaa-"

"There is no other possible explanation!" Sasha declared, fighting back a laugh. "Everyone knows Martin is only nice to me because he secretly hates me, and definitely not for the exact, literal opposite reason. End recording." 

At this point, Sasha is laughing hard enough that her hands are on her knees; Jon can See the floor, the hem of her skirt, the freckles on her wrists. He can hear Tim laughing, too. He isn't sure what's so funny, only that he feels strange and uncomfortable. This is- It's too much. He should stop right now, just blink it all away and pretend none of it happened-

"You're both the worst!" comes Martin's voice. It sounds like begrudging amusement and a very real anger are fighting for dominance as he speaks. Sasha is too busy giggling to notice Martin's feet, too late to react before a hand is on Jon's frames and his view swings all around. "And both of your Jon voices suck."

Martin slips on the glasses. For a wild half-second, Jon wants more than anything to see what they look like on Martin's face. He has seen Martin in his reading glasses two or three times -- thin copper frames, round lenses, the whole of them so barely-there. Jon's frames are thick, bold black. Would they suit the softness of Martin's cheeks, the gentle slope of his nose?

"Tim, could you _please_ stop with the antics?" Martin says as Jon, and it's strange how the pitch is all wrong, the lilt on the words mostly unlike Jon, but the delivery itself is somehow spot on. Martin does work his voice a bit lower too, weaving something like exasperation -- or perhaps merely exhaustion -- into his words. "I'll remind you again that this is a workplace environment. Try to show a shred of professionalism, please, if you've got it in you."

Tim snorts; Martin turns to Sasha.

"And you really shouldn't encourage him, Sasha. I expect this sort of thing from Martin, but you're the _most perfectest_ archival assistant there is and I won't allow these dullards to tarnish you."

The sound Sasha makes at that could only be described as a cackle. "I am not the most perfectest! As if Jon would ever say that!"

"He might as well," Martin replies in his normal voice. "I'm pretty sure you're the only other person in this building that he actually respects."

"No," Sasha insisted, waving a hand.

"I gotta agree with Martin on this one," Tim says. "Jon thinks the rest of us are idiots."

"I just do my job, nothing special."

"And with such _competence_ ," Martin agrees. It isn't apparent in his voice, but Jon Knows that there is bitterness in his use of the word, that there is hurt and a bit of resentment. 

(But mostly hurt.)

Jon tries not to dwell on it. He fails. He blinks it all away, guilt throbbing just behind his eyes, and he knows there is no chance he can chase it away with a pile of wet paper towels.

.

.

.

The following Monday finds Martin stepping into Jon’s office with his usual offering of tea. It’s the first of the day, and they haven’t seen each other yet; Martin is halfway to the desk with a ‘good morning’ to go with Jon’s tea when he spies the newest addition to his boss’ ensemble. “Oh! Jon, you got a retainer for your glasses?”

“Yes, I thought it might keep me from leaving them about the place,” Jon says. Now conscious of it, he can’t help batting at the dangling chain. It’s not especially fancy, just a shiny black cable with tiny purple stones every inch or so. He was still getting used to them, even after spending all weekend learning to ignore them in his peripherie. Now it’ll just be a matter of not forgetting they exist when he tries to remove his glasses and making a fool of himself in front of his assistants. 

“Oh.” It comes out in a breathy, amused way, and Martin rubs his mouth with one hand as if in apology. Jon pretends not to notice. “Well, they look nice! I mean, I like the- the purple on them.”

“Thank you, Martin. For the tea as well.”

“Of course! Do you need anything right now, or…?”

“Not at the moment.”

Martin nods, offering one last smile before he turns to leave. Jon almost lets him go. He considers how he spent his weekend, how he’d already spent an entire two days agonizing on how to do this. He’d made his decision late last night. Martin is already half-out the door, though; it would be so easy to keep his mouth shut, to ignore what he saw, pretend it never happened. 

“Actually, Martin, I- there was something I wanted to ask, as a matter of fact.”

Martin looks back at him with surprise. “Yes?” 

“I was… I was wondering. If- if you and-” Jon bites his tongue, forcing himself not to panic. Challenging himself to be straightforward, for once. He’s never been the best with words, ironically enough. But he can do this at the very least. He can. He will. “I was curious what you were doing for lunch. If you don’t have plans, I, I was just thinking we could go. Together. Since I haven’t gone lately, I mean.” 

“Ah! R-really?”

“Yes, really.” 

Martin nods once, still looking a bit confused. “With, um, with the others, or?”

“I was… hoping it could be just us,” Jon says, almost dragging the words through his teeth. “I wanted to talk to you about some things, actually.” 

The way Martin’s body language changes is nearly imperceptible. Honestly, if Jon wasn’t being influenced by some ominous eldritch eyeball, or if he wasn’t already keyed-up and hyper-attentive by the very nature of this conversation, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Words like _tense_ and _wary_ and even _frightened_ leap at Jon through the look in Martin’s eyes, and he’s quick to make a dismissive gesture, trying to pull a friendly expression onto his face even as his curiosity threatened to derail the entire conversation. “Not anything horribly important! Just, just chatting about something. Mostly I- I wanted to say something. But I’d rather do it… not here?”

Jon has no idea how that comes off -- not badly, he hopes. Luckily for him, Martin’s posture relaxes a bit. He even seems a bit amused, asking, “What, are you afraid of Tim overhearing something incriminating?”

“I’m always afraid of Tim hearing anything he could use against me,” Jon responds dryly, and that earns a chuckle from Martin. He tells himself it’s silly to feel proud over such a simple thing, but, well. “Anyway. Lunch?”

“Yes, lunch sounds fine,” Martin replies, smiling. “Nice, actually. When would you like to go?” 

They spend a few minutes sussing out details. Then Martin leaves, closing the door behind him. Jon remains at his desk; he glances at the sticky note on his computer, then adjusts his glasses. The ability to see the world through them, to observe from afar… It was interesting, no doubt. He certainly learned some interesting things through the practice, even if most of it was unintentional. But this… this is better, Jon thinks. He’d rather be present for his discoveries, and if he happens to learn new things about any of his assistants -- his friends -- he would rather it be because he asked, and because they wanted him to know. 

And, Jon thinks as he gears up to start on his work for the day, you can’t really deliver an apology through a pair of glasses. 


End file.
